The Devil May Care
by DarkJackal
Summary: After failing Prince John, Gisborne reluctantly returns to Nottingham, bringing with him a surprise. But Isabella may mean more to the Sheriff than anyone could know. Vaisey tries to entertain the siblings, and entice Guy to become loyal to him again.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** The Devil May Care  
**Characters: ** Sheriff, Guy, Isabella, Bertha  
**Spoilers:** Up to season 3, episode 5  
**Word Count:** 19,411  
**Setting:** During episode 3x05 (missing scenes)  
**Disclaimer:** Main characters owned by the BBC and Tiger Aspect. I get nothing out of this except an unhealthy enjoyment!  
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The Devil May Care

_Gisborne has returned, alive and well from his sojourn with Prince John, and has been freed of his pledge to the Sheriff. Vaisey visits Gisborne's camp to have a word with his former lieutenant, and is displeased with what he finds. _

Chapter I

Sheriff Vaisey was not happy. Prince John's soldiers fixed their eyes on him in a decidedly non-deferential manner as he turned his white horse around, and rode through the gauntlet of guards. The memory of Guy of Gisborne's words chaffed at him. _I will not have need of you ever again_, Guy had said with a malicious smile. Vaisey had done his best to keep his composure while in the fortified camp. He pretended Gisborne's rejection of his authority was a lark. Always best, when lacking the upper hand, to remain calm.

A trickle of concern began to drip into his conscious the moment he was informed that Guy had returned. Now after seeing him, it was threatening to turn into a steady stream. He was annoyingly at ease with his new command, in a way that Vaisey had never before witnessed. The last time the Sheriff had seen him, Guy was debased and hollow-faced, as well as slightly shocked that Vaisey had handed him over to the Prince's guard. Now he appeared to glow with casual defiance, as if the Sheriff had no hold on him anymore. It seemed Gisborne's need to follow at someone's heels had been met by no less than Prince John. The Sheriff had not foreseen that, and his hands gripped his horse's reins more tightly than necessary. He imagined wrapping the leather straps around Guy's neck, and twisting till the treacherous fool was dead. But somehow, he managed to control his rage until he was back within the security of the men-at-arms who would escort him to the castle. The sergeant in charge of his escort greeted him with a question.

"Is all well, Sir?" The man was a loutish fellow, but he'd had to temporarily promote him to master-at-arms while Gisborne was busy basking in the Prince's praise. Instead of answering, Vaisey shouted a question of his own at the sergeant.

"Just what do you think compels people to forget their place in life?" Vaisey snapped, spurring his horse to put distance between himself and the traitor's camp.

As they rode, the sergeant swiveled his head to look at him. The man had no idea what transpired in the camp. As far as he knew, it was a philosophical question, something he obviously did not have the mental capacity to tackle. He opened his mouth like a fish hauled out of a net, but Vaisey stopped him before the sergeant injured himself trying to wrestle his thoughts into coherency.

"Nevermind," he said shortly.

They had turned onto the main road leading to Nottingham. There were a few other travelers on the path bringing goods to and from the town. Most quickly made way for the Sheriff and his entourage. But one man had veered further into the center of the road, slowing his ox-drawn hay cart to a crawl, and effectively stopping their progress, unless they chose to skirt around him. The Sheriff recognized it was probably a show of disrespect, a trend which had become increasingly prevalent now that Robin Hood had returned, and especially since rumors of his own falling out with the Prince had spread. But he was alert to the possibility it was a decoy to provide distraction for some scheme of the outlaws. Gisborne had fallen for something of the sort recently, but Vaisey was not about to. The key was to quickly destroy the decoy, and continue on as you had been. Then it did not really matter if you were right or wrong.

"Sergeant," he shouted loud enough to be heard by all, "arrest that man for loitering. If he protests, kill him. You two," he pointed at the soldiers nearest to the cart, "take the oxen. Burn the cart." He was tired of people trying to smuggle themselves in and out of his castle in wagons. It was a long shot, but there was no reason not to be thorough.

The sergeant led the frightened—and Vaisey noted, very silent—peasant away from the cart, while the two soldiers unyoked the oxen, and set about lighting up the hay stack. "You," he addressed one of the two unmounted men, "give our slothful friend your horse. He can ride in style on his way to the dungeon." Vaisey continued on with the other four soldiers, while the sergeant remounted and took the reins of the peasant's horse. Waving his hand at the now smouldering cart, Vaisey shouted to the two soldiers, "Make sure nothing tries to escape from there."

As pleasant as interacting with the locals was, it was not enough to keep his mind from seething over Gisborne's shift in loyalty. The last thing he expected was for Guy to charm the Prince into leniency. Gisborne was a noble in name and blood, but certainly not in manners or grace, and he had a hard time imagining how he navigated the treacherous royal waters without drowning. He thought the wretch would suffer at John's hand, not thrive. A very small part of him had hoped he would not be killed, but neither was he happy to see he appeared to have come out unscathed. This did not bode well for Vaisey. It meant the Prince had not taken his anger out on Guy. But it would likely still seek an outlet somewhere, and the Sheriff remained a prime target.

Gisborne had been given the command of the Prince's elite guard for the express purpose of hunting down Hood. He had probably complained that Vaisey never gave him anything fancy to use against the outlaw. But what did he expect? Frugality was a virtue, especially now that there was a royal audit of every penny spent.

The Sheriff had been on the verge of disaster since coming back from the Holy Land. He had fallen from plotting to overthrow the King, to wasting his energy amassing tribute to keep the Prince's claws off his back. But his last few entrepreneurial attempts had failed. And he had forgotten the policy which worked so well throughout his life: Kill those you trusted on a regular basis, before they could share all your dirty secrets. Gisborne's demise was past due. When he had cast him off, it was to serve two purposes, as a sacrifice to give himself more time, and to get rid of his wayward knight without having to do it himself. Because of Guy's vast incompetence, he knew he should have dispensed with him long ago, but he was actually the best of a bad lot—which his current lump of a sergeant continually reminded him.

Maybe he had been getting soft, but he found he could not have Guy killed outright. Gisborne had always been something of a pet project. He had wanted him to be like a son—someone he could abuse, but who would always respect him, because he had to. For a while, he'd had high hopes for his protégé, and Vaisey hated to think he had wasted all his invested time.

The ride back to the castle gave him a chance to reflect on how he had come to be burdened with the ungrateful bastard to begin with. It was not long after Vaisey had taken the position of the deposed Sheriff Knighton, and Guy had come to him as a landless knight in need of a lord. Unseasoned, ambitious knights were commonplace, and the Sheriff was not one to take in strays. But there had been something dark in the young man, which had engaged Vaisey's interest.

Guy's story was a pleasingly tragic one. His father wasted much of his life on the old King's crusades, and was thanked for it with banishment. The lands the family were rewarded had been returned to the original holder, which happened to be Malcolm of Locksley, father of the brigand Hood. That bit amused Vaisey. Ultimately, Guy's parents were killed in a fire many years ago. By the time Gisborne had arrived at Nottingham, he had already learned not to expect life to give you what you deserved. He was focused, heartless, and disillusioned, yet still so naive. Vaisey thought he might prove to be perfect for his needs. He'd had to dispose of his last sergeant, and he figured it would not hurt to give him a chance at the position. At least it would not hurt Vaisey. It might prove fatal to Guy.

Old Sheriff Knighton was ousted due to a lack of obedience to the Prince, motivated by an overabundance of loyalty to the Coeur de Leon. Vaisey had no such shortcomings. He had great plans for Nottinghamshire, but it would have need of armed support. Chivalry did not count for much in the new Sheriff's domain, and he was looking for knights to whom the codes could be loosely interpreted. He needed a leader who had a strong will, but not an unbreakable one. Guy appeared to be quite breakable, but only if you knew how to go about it.

Vaisey was a shrewd judge of human weakness, and he summed up Gisborne's in little time; pride, recklessness, and a need for acceptance in a world that had rejected his claims. He would be easy to manipulate. As with all soldiers, it would be a matter of using discipline. But in this case, the trick was showing trust at the right times to win his devotion. Slightly complicated, but Vaisey was cunning. He would break him to his needs, and then be safe in the knowledge that no one else would be able to turn him.

So the Sheriff had reached out to him, rather like a flame toward a moth. In hindsight, the moth had proven to be more resilient than he expected, being only partially consumed by the Sheriff's evil fire. But back then, that had not been a concern. The younger Guy was only too eager to follow in his footsteps, even if the path proved treacherous.

He could still remember fondly the first time he ordered Gisborne to kill someone. The man with which Vaisey had a mind to test Guy's willingness to follow orders was a petty thief. The normal sentence for his crime would not have been much more harsh than losing a finger, but he did not inform Gisborne of the nature of the infraction. For all Guy knew, the man could be innocent. Vaisey made sure the location was private, as he did not want public pressure impacting Gisborne's actions. It was one thing to kill people when fighting for glory and all that rubbish, but he found that some people, especially nobles, became all touchy about killing the unarmed.

Even now, he remembered the small details of that perfect day. There were only the three of them in his private chamber. Vaisey had put his arm around the thief's shoulders, as if he were introducing an old friend to a new acquaintance, and said lightly, "Gisborne, if you would be so kind, and kill this man." He felt the muscles in the man's thin body tense. Releasing him, he stepped a few paces away from the condemned fellow. The thief had turned panicked eyes to Vaisey and, unsurprisingly, began pleading for his life.

Vaisey had smiled. He looked at Guy, who was watching attentively, and advised the thief, "I'm not the person you need to talk to now. It's up to Gisborne here. Perhaps you can appeal to his sense of empathy," he said, shrugging. The man looked to Guy, and must have seen death reflected in his cold eyes, because he fell to his knees, doing his utmost to look pathetic. Vaisey watched closely for any signs of a burdened conscience, but Guy had asked only, "Here, my lord?" Vaisey answered, "Mm, hmm."

Drawing his sword, Guy put a hand on the horrified man's shoulder, then angled the blade toward the thief's chest. With a downward thrust, he skewered his victim like a fish. It was a genuinely beautiful moment, marred only slightly by the victim's gargling cry. As killing went, it lacked creativity, but there was something to be said for the traditional boldness of it all. Guy pulled the sword free, and a trail of blood dripped across the stone floor. The sword point had probably pierced a lung, because the man collapsed, coughed more blood all over Vaisey's floor, and died rather quickly. Perhaps his private room had not been the best place for it, but he was pleased that there had been no hesitation in Gisborne. Neither had he seen any particular lust for blood. In fact, Guy's face maintained a look of distaste during the whole thing. That disappointed Vaisey a bit, but he reckoned it was probably for the best. He needed a servant, not a kindred spirit. He had smiled brilliantly at Guy, who's grim countenance turned to a slight smile when he saw how much it had pleased him.

Vaisey had clapped his hands together saying, "Thank you. That saves me the inconvenience of proving his guilt. Now, let us get to supper. They tell me we have an excellent roast this night, and I want to make sure they do not overcook it." He had looked at the blood pooling on the floor, and poked the body with his boot. "I like my meat to have some juice left in it." Guy's look had turned serious again. Fortunately, a sense of humor was not a requirement for the position.

Soon afterward, he had given Guy the Locksley lands to oversee while the Earl was away on the Crusades. He could have petitioned the Prince to have the lands turned back over to Gisborne for good, but it suited the Sheriff to give Guy just enough to keep him occupied, but never so much as to make him completely satisfied.

And overall—with but a few glaring exceptions—it had worked out well. Guy had remained true, despite Marian's claws, and Robin's threats. Right up until he had sent him off to Prince John as a substitute for his own life. He had to admit, it was tough to beat the Prince for a patron, but Vaisey knew it would not last. Guy would fail to get what John wanted, and then he would find out what happened to people who personally displeased the monarch.

Vaisey thought he knew where he had gone wrong with Guy. The saying _familiarity sires contempt_ was apt in this case_._ He should have kept him at arms-length from the beginning, but the Sheriff had a weakness for sharing all of his little joys with Guy. Or, to put it more accurately, he enjoyed tormenting him with his pleasures. It was somewhat like keeping a monkey on a chain. Highly amusing, although you knew it was destined to try and take your face off someday.

But he had to admit, since Guy had been gone, Vaisey had yet to find anyone to substitute. They all cowered too much, like he was going to eat them, which was an interesting idea, now that he thought of it. He would have to remember that next time he had a particularly difficult prisoner to interrogate. But the matters at hand left him no time for recreation. He needed to raise funds now, or he might wind up being dragged before the royal throne himself. And he did not think whatever luck of fools managed to save Guy would apply to him.

The Sheriff and his men had finally arrived at the castle gate. Waiting for the gate to be opened allowed him to survey the wretched poor lolling about on either side of the bridge. Why were there always so many beggars wearing hoods at the entrance? The guards would miss an entire army of outlaws sneaking in if they did not think to look under a hood. And sadly, the last thing these idiots did was think. If he made the wearing of hoods an offense punishable by death, it would make it easier to weed out Robin and his men. He could announce it in a proclamation, but it would be more fun to start hauling in the hoodies randomly. He might even get some monks in his net. There was nothing better than the hanging of the holy to cheer him up after a bad morning.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter II

The Sheriff left the great hall in a better mood than when he had entered it. His unexpected reunion with a particular games mistress and slave trader had improved his prospects slightly, and he hummed as he made his way through the castle. Vaisey had been delighted to find that Bertha of Bath—as she was now calling herself—had the temerity to enter his web again. She had been attractive once, but time caused mountains to crumble, and apparently women as well. She was not much to look at anymore. Or more accurately, she was a lot to look at it, if you valued quantity over quality. Fortunately for Bertha, her profession did not require fine feminine form. He supposed, as slave traders went, she was still somewhat comely. He hated to admit it, but there was a time, long ago, that he had found it a shame she was not of noble birth. Her cruel mind, and entrepreneurial prowess, would have made a good partner to his, but as it was, she was nothing but a merchant-class gutter rat.

She must be a particularly desperate rat to risk coming to his shire, even after all these years. He was incredulous that she did not know he was still the Sheriff, despite her assertions to the contrary. Apparently he was rumored to have "moved on". Unfortunately for the both of them, he was stuck here still, in his crumbling little kingdom. But her carelessness could prove fortuitous for him, though certainly not for her. She forfeited her life when she walked through the gates of the town, but he had offered her a pardon if she was able to put her dubious assets to use, and make him a hundred crown profit. And the scheme might even prove entertaining. She had a stable of "gladiators," as she called them, who were pitted against each other in games of combat. Of course the fights were fixed. If the townsfolk had any coins left, they might be more inclined to waste them betting on the muscle-bound blokes, than they had been to give them up for taxes. He wondered why he had never come up with something this simple himself.

To add to the pleasure of this event, Bertha claimed to have picked up one of Robin Hood's men in her journey. She promised a bloody death for the outlaw as a climax to the fight, which sounded somewhat too good to be true. Vaisey was getting accustomed to disappointment, but he promised himself that this time, he would get something positive out of it, one way or another. He would have his hundred crowns, and a dead outlaw, by the end of the day, or Bertha would get a guided tour through the dungeons at dusk.

Thinking about it made him half hope she would fail to meet his demands. Perhaps, for an old acquaintance, he would dust off some of the more artistic devices. It was a shame the gaolers were set in their routines, never using the most intricate contraptions. Vaisey hated all that workmanship going to waste, but they argued it was not worth the hassle. If they would just clean them after each use it would not become such a chore, but all he ever heard was, "It's sticky and rusted!" Thank goodness they did not work in the kitchens!

Upon returning to his chamber, the Sheriff tossed his gloves onto his desk, and threw himself into his heavy oak chair. He brought a hand to his temple, as if to guide his thoughts into more productive avenues. Instead, the songs of his sparrows filled his head, but he allowed the distraction to continue. The simple birds could usually brighten his mood.

He had picked up the habit of keeping them many years ago, after meeting a trader from the East. The market stall had been filled with birds of all colors, stacked in small wooden cages. In the midst of the flickering clutter sat a man, who appeared to be a hundred years old, but who was joyous in ways no one really had a right to be. The man explained, in a broken dialect, that the creatures were a balm for the soul, or something to that effect. Of course that was rubbish, but Vaisey decided he would purchase a few, and see what came of it.

He was surprised to find it had become a slight obsession. They did serve to soothe his mind, though not likely in the way the old man would have expected. Unlike some collectors, who found value in keeping only the most rare of specimens, he did not concern himself with the type of bird. Finches, sparrows, starlings, it did not matter. Instead, his delight came in holding the beautiful, carefree things trapped. Sometimes he would set a cage on the balcony and release one bird from a pair. It would get a chance at freedom, while its mate would remain caged. Some left, never to be seen again. Others flew away, only to return and beat themselves frantically against the cage, trying to get back to their chirping friend. He found that females took up the offer of freedom more often than males, reinforcing his feeling that the power of women to distract men from their better judgment was a natural danger.

Although occasionally in humans, neither had enough sense to do the logical thing. Even the pea-brained birds were smarter than the people he had to surround himself with. Gisborne and Marian were prime examples. Guy had once been in an oddly similar situation with Marian. Vaisey regretted he had not been there to witness all of it, but of course, if he had, the event would not have happened. Vaisey had been attempting to retrieve the pact of the Black Knights, which Hood had so inconveniently stolen. Since it was a matter of some urgency, he neglected to tell anyone where he was going. The Sheriff was nowhere to be found when the Prince's emissary, Sir Jasper, arrived. Jasper had been forced to follow through with the Prince's standing threat; unless the Sheriff was recovered alive and well, the Prince's army would burn Nottingham to cinders. Only Black Knights and their families would be pardoned if found within the town. When offered the chance at safe passage, Gisborne argued he could not leave without Marian, but Sir Jasper had always been a stickler for the details. Marian could only go if she were Guy's wife. Of course, Marian had refused to marry him, content to die with the rabble of Nottingham. Guy chose to stay and protect her, or some ridiculous nonsense. They were like two birds too stupid to leave the cage when the door was wide open.

Vaisey's musing was suddenly interrupted. His hand dropped to the arm of the chair, and he leaned forward slightly. Something had caught his eye from across the room. Specifically, a lack of movement. He crossed the chamber to examine one of his cages. A small brown and yellow lump lay at its center, fragile legs sticking up, while a more lively ball of fluff flew back and forth around it. The Sheriff frowned. He did not like it when they died. It was a way to escape him that he could not control. A sad thing, dead birds...

Though not all dead birds disturbed him. Vaisey certainly did not miss Marian. The woman had been quite a pain, and he had nearly lost his life to her after Gisborne lied to protect her secrets. It still goaded him to think that she had been the Nightwatchman, but he could not even imagine how foolish Guy must have felt. Well, to be honest, he did imagine it, and it made him smile slightly. At least, in the end, Guy made up for it by killing the meddling witch himself. He really had not expected that. The act appeased Vaisey enough to spare Guy's life for the disaster at Acre. Unfortunately, he lost his hold on Gisborne after Marian died. It should have made it stronger, but paradoxically, it seemed to weaken it. But no matter. He was the Prince's problem from now on. If he was fool enough to show his face within the walls of Nottingham again, he would not live long to regret it.

Vaisey carefully opened the delicate door of the cage, awkwardly removing the little corpse. Its more colorful plumage revealed that it was the male. Shutting the door again, he addressed the surviving widow, "I trust you've had enough time to mourn. I will see about getting you a younger champion next time. This one burned out far too quickly."

There was a clatter at the chamber door, signaling the entrance of his slouching sergeant. Vaisey was facing away from him, and the man coughed to get his attention. Why did no one address him properly anymore? Well, he would learn, even if it took all day. The Sheriff held the dead finch in his hand, and busied himself turning the cage around to face the light from the window.

"Sir?" the sergeant tried again.

_Better, keep at it, _Vaisey thought, continuing to fuss with the cage.

There was a long pause. The sergeant was likely wracking his brain trying to figure out how to get the Sheriff's attention without angering him. "My lord?" he tried more loudly.

_Finally!_ "Yes, what is it?" Vaisey asked, as if he had just noticed him.

The sergeant looked relieved to have avoided an awkward crisis. "The gladiators are nearly ready to fight."

"Splendid. Make sure there are plenty of guards, but keep most of them out of sight of the arena. We do not want to cause our good gambling peasants to be hesitant in placing their bets." Vaisey swiped his gloves from the desk with one hand, while his other still clutched the cooling body. Passing the sergeant, he grabbed the man's arm suddenly, making him flinch with surprise.

"Don't say I never gave you anything," he laughed, dropping the bird into the sergeant's gauntleted hand, then swept out the door. The sergeant stared at the dead finch for several seconds. Then, handing it to the guard at the door, he followed the Sheriff to the games.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter III

The day was deteriorating rapidly. Vaisey should have known better than to expect Bertha to make good on her promise. The games had been a complete disaster, due to one of her little slave brats ruining the scheme at the last moment by trying to save the life of the outlaw. It cheated him of the public bloodbath he had been looking forward to, and worse, nullified all bets. In addition, the untimely appearance of Hood and his band allowed their man to escape.

Not long after that, and just as Vaisey had predicted, Guy had returned to his door like a cur. It did not take a soothsayer to know Gisborne would fail in his efforts to catch Hood. It should have been one of those sweetly satisfying "I told you so" moments, but the whole situation had done nothing to benefit him. The Sheriff was slightly mollified knowing the Prince would now understand the type of liability Guy really was. What he failed to predict was that Gisborne would not return alone. He had brought back a woman with him...a sister. That was _most_ interesting. He shelved that revelation for later consideration.

He had allowed Gisborne to find somewhere to stow his sister—probably in Marian's old quarters—but made certain Guy knew he was expected to appear within the hour in the great hall. Vaisey needed to deal with all of his _guests_ tonight,but Bertha had beaten them here, and he had promised to give her his personal attention when next they met. It had been hours since she was dragged off to the dungeon, and he fervently hoped she was not getting impatient.

Descending the steps to the lower levels of the castle, the Sheriff paused briefly before entering the series of vaulted chambers that served as the gaol. As usual, the smell of the place took some adjusting to. The hulking gaoler nodded as Vaisey entered the first dank room.

"So, into what fetid vase have you placed our sweet flower?" Vaisey inquired of the bull-like man. The gaoler led him to one of the cells on the side of the hallway. The woman huddling on the floor inside perked up at the sound of his voice. Her already tattered looking garments were further torn, and her hair was in such a state that his birds might easily be enticed to make their abode there.

He leaned casually against the bars of her cell. "Good evening Bertha. Do you like what I've done with the place since your last visit? A little more grime here and there, nothing fancy."

Bertha roused herself, and crossed the floor to stand on the other side of the bars. With surprisingly graceful desperation, she knelt down, casting her eyes to the floor. _Nice touch_, he thought bemusedly, but the part of a subservient wench was just one of her many roles. When she spoke, her voice quavered piteously, "Please my lord, I did not swindle you. I had part of the payment, but the guards took it from me."

If this was a play for her life, then the acting was sub-par, and the dialog horrid, but despite Vaisey's better judgment, his greed was engaged. "How much did you supposedly have for me?"

Raising her head, she answered more firmly, "Twenty crowns." He narrowed his eyes, looking for the telltale signs of a lie. Her grey eyes boldly returned his gaze. The amount was underwhelming and, as such, believable. His instinct was to trust her.

He crossed his arms, considering, "A far cry from one hundred, and unless these guards of yours can be enticed to relinquish their plunder, you will be the first to try out the Dark Death." He inclined his head toward a corner of the room, where a large wooden casket loomed darkly. "But, if I should find you are telling the truth, and my little minions are keeping things from me, then I will let you introduce them to it yourself."

Her look of despair shifted to one of cautious relief. Rising to her full height, which was roughly equivalent to his, her voice became huskily hopeful, "My lord, you know men can never keep their hands off...a woman." The last word was overemphasized and accompanied by a slight swell of bosom, which, on that frame, was almost threatening.

The Sheriff tried not to flinch, "Yes, well, they who value their hands might think better of it next time." He turned to the gaoler. "Who brought her here?"

The brute took a moment to consider, then rasped, "Two of the sergeant's men. Blake and Warin."

"Take as many men as you need and find them. Have them brought to me, one at a time. And bring that," he pointed to an iron implement hanging from the wall. "We can have a little warm up before the main event." The gaoler bowed in acknowledgment.

Without any further pleasantries, he left Bertha to the care of her keeper. He was not sure why he was being lenient with her. She was a heartless fiend, and he knew if their roles were reversed, she would cut him to small bits and feed them to her slaves. But he had a suspicion she would not fit into his wooden casket anyway. At least not in one piece, and he was not in the mood to mix and match procedures. Plus, if his guards were lining their nests with his money, at a time when his life might count on each coin, it was worth it to make an example of them.

Slightly heartened at the thought, he bounded up the stairs to await Gisborne's arrival in the great hall.

ˆ˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜ˆ

The Sheriff was perched on the arm of his chair, toying with an empty goblet, when Gisborne entered. Guy was, as always, insufferably tall and proud, but he did not project quite the same level of smug confidence that he had that morning, though he still had an air about him, which made the Sheriff think bullying him would be more of a chore than usual.

"It is not true at all," Vaisey called loudly, before his former lieutenant made it halfway across the hall.

Guy stopped short, puzzled by the vague accusation. "What?" he asked gruffly.

"Parting does not make the heart grow more fond," Vaisey said caustically. He tipped the goblet upside down, placing it on the edge of the long oak table in front of him.

"Of that I can agree," Guy replied with a sniff, resuming his stride until he was standing at the opposite end of the table.

The Sheriff glared at him. "Was it not just this morning you were crowing like a cock about how independent you were? And now you have come crawling back."

Annoyingly, that was not exactly true. Guy had yet to beg, plead, or apologize. It was as though he accepted the inevitability of his return, and expected the Sheriff would too. But as tempting as it was to slide back into the old routine, Vaisey's anger was too fierce to let go so quickly.

"I am here, as you requested. So what do you want?" Guy's head remained erect when he spoke, and the Sheriff was struck by how different the man seemed. He wondered where this new attitude had spawned from. Whatever the Prince had done to him, it was not an improvement, as far as he could see.

"Tell me," Vaisey asked mordaciously, "why I should harbor an ungrateful wretch such as you?"

Guy's answer was more of an excuse. "I did not choose to leave."

"Perhaps not so suddenly, and without the chance to take everything you could from me," Vaisey smirked. "I may have sent you away, but you were thinking of leaving for some time. I know your mind. You are hardly subtle."

Gisborne's head lowered as he took a breath. Then his gaze swung back to Vaisey, blue eyes burning with an accusatory fire. "You sent me to die." A bit of raw emotion slipped past the mask of confidence, and for an instant, he sounded hurt. The Sheriff savored the moment. But the pain was swiftly subsumed by disdain. "I'd say that frees me of any lingering debt I might owe you."

"I sent you to die many times. You never held it against me before," Vaisey stated logically.

Guy crossed his arms contemptuously, "It gets tedious when you realize there is no point to it."

"Ah, I see," Vaisey said brightly. "You have awakened to your true calling as the Prince's pet, and find that all those years of service to your Sheriff were a waste. And you expect me to do what? Care? Surely, you know me better." He stood and walked toward Guy. "You know what your problem is? You have been reaching above your station when you have no cause to. Did the Prince convince you that you were meant to be more than my humble lieutenant, because I must have missed the part where you became important," he said with a harsh laugh.

"I made the best of the situation you put me in," Guy replied evenly.

"And how _did_ you manage that, hmm? What did you promise to do for him? Kill Hood? Is that _all_, because he's going to be _so_ happy to hear you did not succeed," the Sheriff's voice exuded sarcasm. "Just because he did not kill you, yet, does not make you privileged."

Guy smiled then, which was disconcerting. "You sound jealous," he said with amusement.

"Oh, terribly so!" Vaisey clutched at his heart as if wounded. "Jealous of the personal attention he will give to your execution. Perhaps you don't know it, but you are strutting around like a rooster who has yet to realize he's lost his head to the ax." He rounded on Guy, his voice rising to a shout, "If you think, for a moment, the Prince is going to support you after failing him, you are a bigger fool than I dreamed possible. You have nothing left to bargain with. When John finds out how miserably you fared, you will be lucky to have a tongue with which to beg for your life!" Vaisey looked into his eyes, noting that a little of the shining defiance was beginning to tarnish, but the fear he had been hoping to see had not set in yet.

The Sheriff sighed. Being surrounded by such ignorance was wearying. Guy never really understood the finer points of political matters, though he would not have thought him this oblivious when his own self-preservation was at stake. If it were possible to beat sense into him, the Sheriff would have chained him and done it. But sadly, real wisdom did not come by that method, otherwise he would have a dungeon full of sages. He moved to one of the narrow windows that looked out on the courtyard.

"Here. In recognition of our past alliance, I will clue you in this once. Come." He motioned for Gisborne to join him at the window. Distrustfully, Guy moved to stand next to him. Vaisey pointed to a large iron cage hanging from the outer walls, which served as the final abode of special criminals. "Now, you think those are there only for display? You pass by them so often they become part of the scenery, yes? That is only because we have not had anyone worthy of a lingering stay in one. I have been intending to put Hood in there as a present to the Prince, but since you will never catch him, perhaps he will settle for you instead. But don't be nervous, you will not have to do much...except die." Guy looked at him dispassionately, but the Sheriff was warming to his topic.

"You know what the lovely part of it is...the birds! You would not think it, but the jays and rooks which you take for granted will suddenly be your greatest enemies when locked in the cage, since you will be all trussed up, and unable to shoo away their sharp little beaks. It is really a delightful turnabout. I would watch out for the jackdaws. Those are the first to go for the eyes." He waved his hand in front of Guy's face, miming the attention of jackdaws, and Guy moved a fraction further away.

The Sheriff continued with mock sorrow, "Unfortunately, it is not the best season for it. Birds are much more hungry in wintertime. But, if for some reason the feathered flayers do not appear, the insects will feast, sooner or later." He was quite sure his descriptive warning would knock Gisborne down a peg or two, but Guy seemed to have lost interest in the conversation, instead watching some small commotion going on in the courtyard. The shouts of soldiers filtered weakly up to their vantage point, but Vaisey ignored it. It sounded like either Blake or Warin had been located. _Perfect_.

Vaisey snapped his fingers under Gisborne's nose to direct his attention back to the matter. "You think you are above all of this. Not so, my friend. You are in over your head, and I will joyously watch you drown." The man needed a lesson in humility, but for the moment, the Sheriff would have to content himself by learning more about that sister of his. When he had first seen them together, the look on Guy's face told him the sister was a sore point. He might get some satisfaction prodding him about their relationship.

"So," he left Guy at the window, and returned to his chair, "on top of cluttering up my castle with your useless self, you brought along another of your wretched breed. Didn't you once tell me you had no family?"

"None of any consequence," Guy answered evasively.

"Seems like you are facing the consequences of that omission now." When he remained silent, Vaisey continued his inquiry. "Will she be staying with us for a while? Or rather, with me, as you will probably be dead before too long."

Guy hesitated before answering, "I...do not know what Isabella's plans are. She needs...protection."

Vaisey raised an eyebrow. "From what?"

"Her husband." Gisborne was staring at the floor now, much of his bluster having ebbed quietly away at the change of topic.

The Sheriff's eyes widened. "Lovely. Sounds charming. Who is this delightful fellow?"

"Squire Thornton, of Shrewsbury." Indeed, Guy's attitude had shifted perceptibly, edging back toward the remorse-wreathed creature he once knew.

"Never heard of him," the Sheriff said casually. When Guy was not forthcoming with information, he encouraged, "Come, come. I should know the details, so I can better 'protect' her."

Guy looked like he was debating whether or not to avoid the question. In fact, there appeared to be a wealth of latent culpability there. Stretching, the Sheriff put his hands behind his head, and reclined further in the chair. He could wait as long as it took to hear about whatever was bothering him.

Taking a deep breath, Guy finally resolved himself to explain. And what a tale it was too! He never realized Gisborne had such pretty skeletons in his closet. To the Sheriff, Guy had always been an open book, with only a page or two missing. He had been almost certain he knew his entire story, but now he wondered if the lost passages might have changed the context. There had always been something morose about him, almost a mantle of guilt, that he had worn so long it had become comfortable. It seemed that part of it began years ago with the betrayal of Isabella.

"You sold her off when she was thirteen?" the Sheriff exclaimed incredulously. Clapping his hands together, he proclaimed, "That sounds simply sordid!" He did not know Gisborne had it in him to be so vile to a relative.

Guy's voice was harshly defensive, "It was not like that. Thornton was a good prospect, and...the only one I could arrange given our circumstances."

"Yes, and you profited from it. I knew there was a reason I liked you. Liked in the _past_ tense, of course." Vaisey loved watching him deal with ethical dilemmas. A flare of the nostrils, and a blink were all he gave away, but it was enough. He had to stop himself from laughing. This was just what he was hoping for, but he felt like pushing him further to the edge.

"How much are pretty noble girls worth these days, or do you not keep up with the market anymore?" His thrust appeared to have found its mark. It had always been easy to rile Gisborne, though he would rarely act on that anger. But that era might have passed. There was something murderous flickering behind his eyes. Vaisey made sure the dagger he carried in the sleeve of his tunic was ready to be used if necessary. Guy may have been larger than him, but sword play meant little if you already had a blade stuck in your throat.

Rising from his seat, the Sheriff was careful not to turn his back on him when he asked, "Are you sure she is here to be protected, or to take your head off? Oh Gisborne, you are going to have all sorts clamoring for your demise. I must remember to sell tickets!" He chuckled gleefully, then an idea struck him, "I wonder if Isabella is worth a thousand crowns. Bertha might know a buyer or two." Thoughtfully, he ran a thumb over his greying beard.

Gisborne's brow furrowed, "You wouldn't." There was a touch of genuine anxiety in his voice. The Sheriff wondered absently if concern for his sister might inspire Guy to hold his tongue.

"You know I would," Vaisey said seriously. "I would have sold _you_, if I thought anyone would pay me enough for the trouble. But alas, _she_ is not mine to sell. I suppose I could ransom her back to Thornton, though I doubt he would pay twice for her."

He was pleased to see Guy look distraught at this possibility, but at that moment, the gaoler appeared at the entrance to the hall with two guards, and a prisoner. The man they held between them no longer had a helmet or weapons, but was otherwise clad in the mail of a soldier.

"The man Warin, my lord," the gaoler announced.

"Ah, you found him," Vaisey called, as if Warin were a lost guest at a party. And like a thoughtful host, the Sheriff poured two goblets of wine for his more honored guests. Offering the first one to the gaoler, he praised, "Good man, finding him so swiftly." The big man took the proffered drink with a vile grin. The second goblet he held out to Guy. "Gisborne, you will enjoy watching this."

With effort, Guy tried to resume a dignified facade. "With respect, I need to get to Locksley to take care of matters."

Vaisey was unimpressed. "'With respect.' You make me laugh."

Guy's facade cracked within seconds. "Fine. To put it bluntly, I do not have time to indulge you anymore." He started to move toward the doorway.

He really was insufferable now. Vaisey wanted to punish him for this blatant disrespect. Unfortunately, as long as he was the Prince's man, it was not wise to take it upon himself to decide his fate. John did not like other people to break his toys. Still, he was not going to escape that easy. "Guards." He gestured nonchalantly at the door. The guards from the hallway joined those who had accompanied the gaoler, creating a wall of steel.

Guy halted in surprise. "So...what? Am I going to have to fight my way out?" he asked incredulously.

"You may try, if you prefer to die here. Are matters at Locksley really that pressing?" His question was met with a dark scowl. "Or, you can stay, and enjoy some civilized entertainment with an old friend."

"This is ridiculous!" Guy stuck out his arms in an exasperated gesture, entreating the Sheriff to see his point.

"This is _my_ castle!" Vaisey countered angrily, his fingers clenching tightly around the stem of the goblet.

"You cannot keep me here," Gisborne said dangerously, hand actually moving to the hilt of his sword.

Vaisey was enraged. His arm lashed downward, and the goblet was propelled toward the floor between them, spilling its contents in a dark slash across the wooden boards. The Prince's wrath be damned! He was not going to let Gisborne walk all over him in his own hall.

"Kill him if he moves!" he ordered the guards. In response, the points of their steel halberds lowered to chest height, ready to impale Guy if he was fool enough to challenge them. He gave Gisborne a strained smile, "Sorry, but one can't be too careful. Never know when someone might be a spy for the King." If he needed a future excuse, that would do well enough.

Gisborne closed his eyes, trying to get control of himself, then grated, "You know I am not a spy!"

Vaisey looked upward, his finger touching his lips in mock consideration, "Funny, that's just what a spy would say. You were the one protecting the Nightwatchman, and consorting with an outlaw, remember? And I have no idea what you have been up to the past few weeks."

"Damn you," Guy's voice was a low growl, but his rage was impotent, and he had given up trying to leave.

"Too late, already been done." The Sheriff turned his back on Gisborne dismissively, reasonably confident the guards would follow through with the order if he made a threatening move. "Now, moving on to business..." Poor Warin was going to feel neglected if he did not begin the questioning soon.

He motioned for Warin to step forward, which he did, haltingly. The soldier was a youngish man, probably not more than twenty-five. The bridge of his nose deviated slightly from straight, indicating some past injury in battle, or just the result of a brawl amongst hot-headed men. It might be the least of Warin's detractors once Vaisey was done with him.

"Now my man, what have you to say?" the Sheriff addressed him in a tone that was not yet overtly sinister.

Warin looked to Vaisey, then to Guy, "My lord Sheriff. Sir Guy. Please, I do not know what I've done."

"Do you know him?" Vaisey turned to ask Gisborne, who had obnoxiously taken up the Sheriff's own seat by the table.

"He was one of my men. I _was_ master-at-arms, if you remember." Guy had fallen into a rather unbecoming petulance.

"Getting to know your underlings. How very quaint," the Sheriff smiled scornfully.

"What is he charged with?" Guy asked shortly.

"He is being accused of theft from...a lady, of sorts," Vaisey offered. "The woman he took to the dungeon, to be precise."

"That was no lady, my lord," Warin objected. "She tried to fight us the whole way there." The Sheriff noticed for the first time that there was a fresh scratch on his face. It seemed Bertha was still a feisty cat.

"And I suppose you felt you deserved a bit of a bonus for completing this task," Vaisey continued smugly.

"My lord, I do not know what you mean," Warin said with pathetic sincerity.

"A twenty crown bonus, perhaps?" The Sheriff cocked his head to the side considering, "Or maybe only ten, if you were going to split it with your partner."

Warin's posture stiffened almost imperceptibly, but the Sheriff had been watching for it. Yet the man spoke the next words with the same air of candor as before, "I know of no money."

"Hmm, I doubt that. Gaoler?" Vaisey looked expectantly at the blocky man, who stepped forward, offering him an iron tool. "Thank you for remembering." He took the long rod from the gaoler's hand. It was the picture of versatility, long enough to wield from a safe range, yet light and well balanced so as not to compromise dexterity. With one end sharpened to a spike, and the other ending in a short hook, there were many uses it could be put to. The sight of it was enough to frighten Warin into a rash move. He turned to beseech a man known only slightly less for his lack of empathy than the Sheriff.

"Sir Guy, please. You know I've always done my job. I am no thief."

Amused, Vaisey advised Warin, "All things considered, you _might_ want to reconsider using him as a reference."

Guy disregarded the slight. "From what I knew of him, he does not seem like the type."

The Sheriff mocked him, "I'm happy to see you have become a scholar on the human condition."

Guy's irritation spurred him to criticize the proceedings. "Why bother with this charade? You'll turn it into a carnival of carnage, regardless," he stated insolently.

Vaisey did not appreciate his efforts to bring about justice being referred to in such a way. Turning abruptly, he stalked toward Gisborne, slamming the rod down on the table in front of him. Guy flinched involuntarily as an empty goblet jumped off the table at the impact.

"Maybe, if you feel so strongly about it, you will offer to take his place," the Sheriff said venomously.

Guy appeared unruffled by the threat, but he was wisely silent.

"No?" Vaisey asked pointedly. "So hard to find people ready to die for their convictions these days." _Perhaps that was because they were already dead_, he mused.

"My lord..." the gaoler motioned to the door, indicating that the second guard had been found.

"Ah, but there is another player in our little game," Vaisey exclaimed. "You may bring him in." An older and slightly stocky man was pushed roughly into the room to stand within a few feet of Warin. It looked like he had given the guards a bit more trouble than the younger soldier had. Looking around, he took in the audience, and the state of his fellow soldier, and chose not to protest further.

"Now Gisborne, are you also the best of comrades with this man too?" Vaisey asked lightly.

"I don't recall him," Guy replied offhandedly.

"He is Blake, one of the sergeant's recently recruited men, my lord," the gaoler offered.

Vaisey was pleased, "Good, then I won't worry about Gisborne jumping to his defense."

He addressed Warin again. "Now _you_ never tried to put the blame on the absent man, so that tells me you are either in it together, you know nothing about it, or you did it, and were taking a great risk being silent hoping he would look more guilty once he was brought to me."

"It hardly sounds like you've learned much of anything," Guy interjected dryly.

"The latter two are weaker arguments," the Sheriff continued, ignoring Guy's comment, "because if _I_ were accused of something I did not do, I would assume it was the other man, and point the finger there. And if I _had_ done it, I would do my best to invent a story to pin on my unknowing fellow." Vaisey circled round the two accused men, like a vulture waiting for its dinner to die. "But, if I were in league with him, we would have agreed to maintain the story that we knew nothing about the theft, which should hold up to shallow scrutiny. Unfortunately for you both, what I'm proposing is an in-depth inquiry." He held the rod up to eye level, looking down the length of it.

"My guess," he continued, "is that you did not expect that the money you took was mine, nor how seriously I would be wanting it back. You men are not common outlaws. You would not take that risk." As he spoke, he ran the sharp end of the rod through the flame of several candles. It was more for show than anything, since the heat was steadily running up the length of the iron to the end he held, and having neglected to bring gloves, there was no way he was letting it get red hot. He thought Blake and Warin were trying rather too hard not to look at each other. Time to make his proposal.

"I will give you two options. You can tell me where the money is, and only forfeit a finger. Or you can lie, and see what surprises await you in the dungeon." Walking past Guy, he commented quietly, "This is where they try to guess what the other is going to do so they don't come out the bigger loser. Wait and see if your man remains as stalwart as you say." But to his consternation, both men remained silent. That would not do.

"I forgot to specify, silence is not actually one of the options." He stood between them, and held the end of the smoking spike where they could both get a good look at it. "Five more seconds of silence, then one of you will get to trade an eye for this. Ready? One..." The two men glanced back and forth in mounting desperation.

"Two..." It was funny how nervous people got when you started waving a hot spike around.

Finally, Blake broke the silence, "She dropped it when she was fightin' with us. We didn't know it was owed to you."

Warin hung his head, adding, "That's the truth."

"So where is my money?" Vaisey had yet to put the spike down.

"In the barracks, in a chest," Warin said swiftly.

"All of it?" Vaisey twirled the end of the poker in a tight circle.

They both nodded.

"Good." He addressed Blake, "Then all _you_ owe me is ten crowns and a finger. I'd say that is a bargain for keeping the rest of your foolish self intact. Take him to retrieve my money," he ordered the two guards who had brought him in. "He can make his payment to me tomorrow." The hall was not the place for it. The wooden floor would soak up the blood and leave a stain.

He turned to face Warin, "Now _you_ owe me a bit more."

A look of confusion twisted Warin's young face. "But my lord, I swear I did not mean to keep it from you," his voice was becoming panicky. "I am no more guilty than he." He indicated the man being led from the hall.

"Yes," the Sheriff began slyly, "but I gave you the chance to tell me the truth first, and you lied. Blake came in late—no fault of his really—just the luck of the draw. And on top of that crime, you probably hurt Gisborne's feelings after he spoke up for you. The poor thing already has betrayal issues." Guy rolled his eyes, looking away.

At the Sheriff's gesture, the guards seized Warin, who cried out pointlessly, "Please, lord, have mercy!"

"Last I checked, my title was Sheriff, not Saint. I don't really do mercy. Gaoler, take him to the dungeon. I will be there shortly. Oh, you may have this back," he handed him the iron rod, dusting the sooty grime from his hands.

He was about to leave the hall when he remembered that his orders to kill Gisborne still stood, unless he canceled them. He turned to face the glaring rogue, "Oh right, you may go now, but don't feel I have forgotten about you. I will expect you and Isabella to join me tonight for dinner. I am sure you two have plenty of awkward catching up to do, and I want to be there to watch."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter IV

The Sheriff had saved thinking about Isabella till after his unpleasant reunion with her brother. He'd been terse when they first met, but now he wanted to give her a taste of his hospitality. Also, there was a fascinating possibility dancing at the edge of his mind, and a personal appraisal might help him to determine its likelihood.

His assumption, that Gisborne had stashed Isabella in Marian's old rooms, had been correct. He motioned to the guard at the door to announce his arrival.

The soldier rapped on the thick oak, calling, "My lady. Sheriff Vaisey to see you." She opened the door with only a moment's hesitation.

"Please come in, my lord." Smiling politely, she bowed before him as he entered, but the Sheriff noted anxiety at the corners of her mouth. He held her fate in his hands, and she knew it. But at the moment, he did not feel like discussing her future.

Surveying the room, he commented, "I hope you find these quarters to your liking."

"It is very comfortable," she replied.

He had the place tidied up upon his return from Acre, and there were but few remnants of the time Marian spent here. Most of the personal items were gone, but some of the things that might suit a female guest remained; mostly knitting and embroidery supplies, and a hairpin or two. Those that had been thinly disguised weapons had been removed. No need to tempt fate.

He motioned for her to sit, and she did so. Folding her hands in her lap, she regarded him attentively.

"Tomorrow you will have an opportunity to visit the market, and find what you need to supplement your wardrobe." He figured she would be concerned about that sort of thing. Her clothes were of fine material, but they had seen long travel, and worse. "Don't worry about money. I will send my guards with you. They can remind our merchant friends of the favors they still owe me."

"That is...kind of you." She was a little slow to bestow the adjective on him, perhaps envisioning the tension-filled buying spree he was advocating.

He had not taken the time when she first arrived, but now he looked at her closely. She had sky-blue eyes—very beautiful at first glance—but there was plenty of pain there. Pain and anger. Her dark hair was unbound, framing a sharp-featured face. She was a pretty vixen, but he could sense that behind the dainty curve of her lip lay a hidden snarl for all who would cross her. She met his brazen scrutiny for a moment before glancing away. She likely believed he found her attractive, and he did, though probably not in the way she was thinking. It appeared she had an intelligence that Guy lacked. He thought idly if she would be good at chess. He could always beat her brother without much effort, but Guy had little patience, and Vaisey suspected he was just trying to end the game sooner.

For once, he said what was on his mind. "You do not seem much like your brother."

If she was surprised by the comparison, she hid it well. "I hardly know him anymore, but I doubt I am much like him." Taking a chance, she fixed her bright eyes on him. "Does that displease you?" she asked, her tone the slightest bit teasing.

He snorted contemptuously, "Not so much." His next words were spoken offhandedly, "You are more like your mother."

This time she failed to hide her surprise. "You knew her?" There was more than a little distrust in the question.

"Guy has spoken of her," he offered.

A bitter look darkened her face. "He always did love her. Why he could not show half that love for me, I never understood."

Considering Gisborne had run the last woman he loved through with a sword, he doubted Isabella was missing much. But he refrained from mentioning it, saying simply, "I would not take it personally. Gizzy has a funny way of showing affection."

"Gizzy?" she repeated with a laugh. "You do not actually call him that, do you?"

"Of course," he said with a smile.

"I bet he hates it!" There was a delighted gleam in her eyes.

"Of course! Now, if you are not busy, I would be gratified if you would join me. There is an old friend I would like you to meet."

"I would be pleased to," she responded dutifully.

"Excellent." Turning to leave, he declared, "When you are ready, have the guard show you the way to the dungeon."

She suddenly had the look of someone who realized they had stepped into a deeper puddle than expected. "The dungeon?" she asked doubtfully.

Pausing at the doorway, he reassured her, "Never fear, you are safe. I already have my catch for the day." With an anticipatory smirk, he disappeared into the dark corridor.

ˆ˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜ˆ

In truth, he had lied to Isabella about Guy telling him anything of their mother. Gisborne was far too protective of his past. The fact of the matter was, Vaisey had met Ghislaine, the brown-eyed French beauty, at a Midsummer Eve festival, nearly thirty years ago. Vaisey had been a young man, prone to wasting time on pursuits which guaranteed nothing but trouble. As hostess of the feast, she had been most gracious, with a ready smile, an easy laugh, and most importantly, an absent husband.

Ghislaine had been charm incarnate, a trait which apparently missed Guy completely. Thankfully, it had been passed on in some measure to Isabella. Guy was more like his father, whom Vaisey had met only once at a tourney. Sir Roger was dutiful, yet dull. But on this Midsummer eve, the knight had been away raising men for the old King's crusade. Apparently, he was going about it the old fashioned way, inspiring them with tales of glory, rather than threatening insurmountable taxes if they did not join. It was a fool's errand. But, it meant the rooster had left his lovely French hen to the caress of a rival cock.

At the time, Vaisey was aware Ghislaine had a son, just a whelp of six or seven. The boy had not been present that night, but she spoke delightedly about him, as mothers will. Vaisey could have cared less, but he pretended otherwise. To win a woman's attention, one needed to coddle her heart. He utilized charm much more back then, before real power made it obsolete. That, coupled with a night of wine and revelry, had made the seduction a simple task.

Their laughter, among other things, had mingled that night. It was a massive risk to her reputation, perhaps even to her life. But Vaisey had no reason to ruin her, and unlike the majority of people, he was good at keeping secrets. The affair meant little to him, and he presumed Ghislaine felt the same. It did not seem likely anything lasting had come of that tryst, and certainly not in the form of Isabella. For all the trouble they were, women were hardly stupid. They had ways to get rid of unwanted babes. He assumed if there were any lingering effects of that night, Ghislaine would see to it they were purged.

And he had forgotten almost entirely about her, until Gisborne appeared years ago, reminding him of the name, and making him aware that Ghislaine had died in a fire many years before. It was possible that his brief but pleasant association with the mother inspired him to look more favorably on the son than he might otherwise have, but at the time, Vaisey did not think that revelation would have gone over well with his budding _protégé__. Since _Guy had never claimed to have any other siblings, it had passed from the Sheriff's mind again, until today, when Isabella stepped through the gates of Nottingham.

Now, after all the trouble the fool had caused him, he was greatly tempted to tell Guy all about the affair, in torrid detail. That should sting worse than any wound he could inflict. Except it probably would not matter. Gisborne never believed anything he did not want to.

As to the matter of Isabella's lineage, there was really no telling now. He had to admit, she was of the right age. But it was equally possible she was just another product of boring old Sir Roger. Ghislaine was long dead, and he doubted she had confided the affair to anyone but her god. And really, if she were that easily seduced, then for all he knew, Guy could have an army of bastard siblings. He laughed at the idea, then shuddered. He did not need that at his door!

Fortunately, those carefree indiscretions had not become a lifetime habit. His greater goals were too important to be waylaid by some disreputable romance. While at the threshold of greater things, he had watched the career of more than one powerful man end disastrously due to foolish choices involving females. Vaisey had become paranoid of the pitfalls. Women were a distraction, but the really smart ones were more dangerous than any man.

But at the moment, it seemed the castle was overflowing with the tricky creatures. He wondered, of the two women nervously awaiting him in the shadows of the dungeon, which was the more dangerous? The one caged, or the one free?


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter V

The gaoler greeted the Sheriff's arrival to the dreary chambers with an unpleasant smile. The man's cadaverous assistant skulked in the shadows several paces behind. Vaisey addressed them both.

"Release Bertha and bring her here. Just ensure she does not have any hidden claws to sink into me."

While they headed off to the task, Vaisey turned to the figure in golden velvet gleaming in the only shaft of natural light to penetrate the depths. Isabella looked out of place in the dungeon. The hem of her skirt had collected bits of mucky straw, and she kept her arms close to her body, perhaps in defense, or to avoid touching anything unpleasant.

He greeted her with a question, "How do you like it in my castle so far?"

"Well _this_ is slightly macabre," she indicated the surroundings with a toss of her head, and hugged her arms together more tightly.

"Oh, I'm sorry," he said with false sympathy. "I forgot you have been pampered and spared the cruelties of the world." He knew that was only partly true.

She was quiet for a long moment, then spoke softly, "I am not a stranger to cruelty." The words implied a life of thinly veiled misery.

Stifling a smile, he replied, "Gisborne alluded to something of the sort." If he had been a man prone to tender considerations, he would have been moved by her plight. As it was, he had no interest in her past woes, caring only for what twists and turns these events had wrought in her mind. She had been a victim up to now, but had risked all to change that. He found it fascinating. But he would not be satisfied until he knew what she was capable of.

"Guy does not know all of it." A sharp edge cut into her voice, and Vaisey sensed her loathing for the brother that had brought it all upon her.

"I'm sure it is wonderful dinner conversation," he said with a hint of mockery. Their banter was interrupted by Bertha's forced entrance on the scene.

Somewhat affronted, Isabella stepped back a pace. "With the type of company you keep, perhaps so," the sight of the wretched woman prompted her to reply. The juxtaposition of the two females was striking. One in stately velvet and silk, the other in roughly woven cloth. Looking bedraggled and clumsy in shackles, Bertha did her best to keep what stout dignity she had in the presence of the lady.

The Sheriff moved close to Bertha, noting with amusement the disapproving look on Isabella's face. "Bertha and I go way back," he explained in lieu of a proper introduction. A smile twisted the corner of his mouth as he addressed the woman who had sold countless young rascals into slavery. "And you are in luck tonight, my cut-throat queen. Although reluctant at first, your persecutors were compelled to come clean. One will make his payment for you, and the other, I will give you the chance to take something from, namely his life."

A look of cautious relief crept across Bertha's face. "You are greatly generous, my lord."

Distaste curled the Sheriff's lip, "Best not let that rumor spread." To the gaoler and his assistant he ordered, "Fetch Warn, or whatever his name is."

They returned with the unfortunate man bound in shackles. Wasting no time, the condemned soldier launched into an unconvincing argument for why he should be spared.

"My lord, for years I have served you! Allow me the chance to devote the rest of my life to yours!"

The Sheriff looked at him with contempt, "How many years has that been, and you've hardly made an effort to stand out from the crowd? I doubt your life will give me more satisfaction than your death."

Vaisey ignored any further pleas, addressing the man's captors, "Do gag him. We have ladies present, and I do not want to damage their sensitive ears with his caterwauling."

The gaoler secured a piece of ragged linen across the man's mouth. The soldier was still wearing a mail hauberk, prompting the gaoler to ask, "Should we strip him?"

"Don't bother," Vaisey answered. "I want to test the strength of the mail." The gaoler looked at him pointedly, then shrugged as if to say it would not be his fault if the thing broke.

The Dark Death, as the old contraption was called, was waiting in the open space of the dungeon. It was a human-sized wooden casket, blackened by age and other unmentionable substances. The name really did not do it justice, for there were plenty of ways to die in darkness, but not all of them could boast of over fifty iron spikes penetrating the victim. It looked benign enough while the doors which held the four inch spikes were shut. But when the gaoler hauled open the creaking hinges, the gaping thing bristled with rusty death.

The doomed man took one look at it and began to thrash mightily, almost unbalancing the gaoler's center of gravity. Crossing his arms, Vaisey watched without interrupting. It was a shame how these guards showed motivation only when it was their own lives at stake.

"Showing off for the ladies?" Vaisey sneered. "You know, you should feel honored. Not everyone gets to go this way."

The prisoner succeeded in knocking the gaoler's leather cap askew, but it was like fighting against a wall. The Sheriff doubted even a butcher's mallet to the head would phase that brute. The assistant grabbed hold of the shackles, and within a moment, the two of them had the desperate soldier under control. With a final weak scuffle, they hauled the guard into the casket.

The device was cleverly made so that two thin wooden panels, perforated with numerous small holes, would close over the participant without harming them. But once inside, they were effectively buried, as there were no holes in the panels over their head. When the heavy outer doors containing the spikes were shut, the iron points would fit through the holes, and into the victim. The ultimate effect varied based on size and shape of the person, but generally speaking, it was not a sudden death. The craftsmen had placed the spikes to avoid hitting vital organs, and as long as the doors were not opened again, the iron would remain in the wounds, staunching the flow of blood.

The doors could be closed slowly by method of rope and winch, but the Sheriff had others to torment tonight. The quick method utilized very heavy stones connected to iron rings at the end of each door. The stones were perched on the edge of the framework supporting the casket. The outer doors were closed very lightly, so the victim felt nothing but the slight tickle of the spike's point at each of the holes. All that remained was for someone to push the stones off the frame, and the doors would slam down, puncturing as they went.

He hoped it would do the job without being damaged. It was something of an antique, and he may have been a bit rash pitting it against chainmail. But he was a practical man. If you could not enjoy something because you were afraid of using it, then it was not worth having.

The assistant began to close the inner panels, and the soldier took one last look at life before shutting his eyes, probably in prayer. Vaisey supposed that was what people did when they had nothing left to do. The inner panels were latched, and the outer doors gently lowered. The gaoler hefted the heavy stones into place, chaining them to the doors. The Sheriff made one last inspection, then pivoted around to face the robust woman in chains, who, if not for a bit of luck, might have been the subject of the demonstration.

"Bertha, would you do the honors? One side only, for now." He stepped aside as she walked to the casket. She stood by it a moment, her hand brushing over the stone. He could not tell if she was steeling herself to perform the act, or trying to impress him by dragging it out. He glanced at Isabella, who was twisting the edge of one of her long sleeves, mangling the velvet heedlessly. But, he noticed happily, she was not yet looking away.

Bertha surrounded the stone with both hands, and looked once more at him to confirm he had not changed his mind. He flicked his hand at her impatiently. She pushed the stone till it teetered on the edge of the framework. Then, with a last little shove, it plunged off the side. The door whipped shut with a deafening bang. Despite the gag, there was a muffled howl from the casket. While the sounds continued, the Sheriff fixed his eyes on Isabella. Her face revealed revulsion, but throughout it all, she had not pleaded with him to stop.

He nodded thoughtfully, "Very nice, Bertha. Perhaps I will let you live a while longer. Maybe you can earn your keep helping down here with certain...special events." He did not think Bertha saw her ideal place as mistress of the dungeons, but for now, she appeared relieved.

Bowing low, she said, "I am in your debt, my lord."

"That goes without saying." He waved to the gaoler, "You may take her back to her cage, if you would."

With Bertha out of the way, he turned his full attention to Isabella. Like he had done so long ago with Guy, he made her a devil's offer.

"Now, my lady..." his voice was warm, yet menacing, "I've saved the other half for you." If she could do this, perhaps she would be of some use to him. He had made it as easy as he could for her, giving her an example to follow, and making the action almost an afterthought, since the man was already as full of holes as a sieve.

But she backed away from him. Shaking her head, she declared, "I will not do that."

He rolled his eyes, not bothering to hide his disappointment, "Oh, that is so predictable. If you want to justify it, know that he stole from that woman, putting her life in jeopardy. Are you not tired of men getting away with everything?"

"I am not a murderer." She spoke with an unfortunate conviction.

"You are young yet," he tried to sound encouraging. "You have plenty of time." She looked at him like he was a two-headed goat. It appeared he was not going to turn her into a heartless villain in one day. A pity. He would just have to finish the job himself.

Stepping over to the casket, and without any particular flourish, he shoved the second stone off the frame. Another bang. Isabella squinched her eyes shut in empathetic reaction as the sound echoed off the dungeon walls. A weaker wail followed, this time fully muffled by the two closed doors.

Many moments passed after the last noise had died out before the Sheriff turned to her and said, "You know what the best part is...he's not dead. Do you want to see?"

"God no!" She shook her head emphatically, raising her hands to fend off the thought.

"Are you sure?" he wheedled.

"Please, don't," she begged.

"Just imagine it is your favorite Squire Thornton." If she was very good, he considered, perhaps he would arrange that opportunity for her in the future.

"I would not wish that on him...on anyone." Her eyes were downcast, but he recognized the lie, even if she did not.

His jovial mood suddenly became intense, and he slid toward her like a snake catching the eye of its prey. "You only say that because you think it is inappropriate to do so, but inside, I know what you want," he whispered, smooth as raw silk. "Do not let the expectations of others keep your own truths buried." His hazel eyes held hers, and he could see she was struggling then, to deal with the realization that what he said was true.

He pressed the point further, "You know all that he has taken from you; dignity, joy, hope. Why should it not be your right to return that favor?"

Society may have told her it was wrong, so very wrong, but her heart yearned for retribution. There were tears forming in her eyes, and the Sheriff smiled, because he knew they were not for the tormented man in the casket. They were tears of release for finally discovering someone who spoke the words that she so desperately wanted to hear.

"Why did you not kill the squire?" he asked evenly. "Surely you had numerous chances."

A look of shock flitted across her face, and she must have debated whether to play the innocent still, but then it slowly changed to one of dreary resignation. "Do not think I did not consider it."

"Good," he said pleased. Finally they were working beyond the demure facade which she had been forced, for the sake of survival, to adopt.

"But it would not have gone unmarked," she explained. "His actions were known and accepted. I would have been suspected, and his allies were powerful."

"Just kill them all," he said simply. "You seem smart enough to have found a way."

She looked at him with disbelief, then said with a hint of amusement, "Your reputation is not an exaggeration, is it?"

"It is all true, I'm sure, but you were the one at _my_ door. Gisborne tells me you were not purposely searching for him, so why come to my shire, of all places?"

"It is true, I did not know he was here, nor would I have put my faith in him. It was a matter of opportunity. A sudden chance presented itself. I had to get away," she stated with conviction.

He was incredulous. "You had no plan? Just took off without provision?"

"I had money, but it was stolen from me by Robin Hood."

"Welcome to Nottingham," he muttered ruefully.

"I intended to find work in the shire. I've spent much time learning practical things, as well as the less useful pursuits of the nobility. I could have been a seamstress or a maidservant. I did not care what I did, as long as I would never be found by my husband."

"Few seamstresses wear velvet," he pointed out needlessly. 

"I would have found more appropriate clothes, but I ran into Hood before I could do so."

"Why did you leave the squire now, after so many years?" he asked, genuinely curious.

Her mouth was set in a grim line, and she appeared to search inwardly for the answer. The simplicity of her reply belied the complexity of the situation. "There comes a point where you can take it no longer."

"Some people take it all their lives," Vaisey snorted. "There are those who do, and those who refuse. Take your brother for example. He appears strong, while you appear weak, yet I suspect the opposite is true. You are more gentle, yet I see a fiercer fire kindling. Gisborne is desperate to be subordinate. He does not realize it, but he is like a dog ever searching for the strongest master, one before which he can feel proud to roll over and submit to. You have been forced to do just that, yet you are far from broken." He took her hand then, leading her to the steps winding out of the dungeon.

She did not protest the contact, but asked, "What will you do with me?"

"Me? Nothing. I do not care what you do with yourself. Just so long as you do not get in my way. As far as I know, Squire Thornton has no particular clout with anyone that I need worry about. If he comes looking, he will be sent away empty-handed."

A weight appeared to lift from her then, and her smile was a bright beam which even the horrors of the dungeon could not dampen. She clasped her other hand over his, her gratitude almost palpable.

"Very sweet." He gave her a half smile. There was something both tragic and resilient about her. She was soft, yet sharp, like the petal of a dying rose falling amid its own thorns. Letting go of her hand, he asked, "Can you find your way back?"

Suddenly self-conscious, she wiped away a tear. "Yes, I think so." Clutching her golden skirts, Isabella retreated to the upper levels of the castle, and the dungeon was again reduced to a bleary monochrome.

He might be losing Gisborne, but at least he still had one of the family snared. He was not sure if it was due to the vague chance she was his daughter, but despite her limited utility, the idea of killing her did not appeal to him. Instead, he would let her stay, and do what she would for a while. If only she were not so squeamish. She had not shown any cruel passion. Surely his offspring would be of like mind in that regard. But perhaps not being around for the upbringing of your brats meant you could not expect them to turn out like you wanted.

He sauntered over to where Bertha was again contained. She came to the bars unbidden, but did not offer to start conversation. Hardly out of danger, she knew her life depended on his whim.

"So, what do you think?" he inquired. When she looked at him blankly, he asked impatiently, "Does she look like my daughter?"

Despite her dependance on his good favor, a look of repugnance crossed her face, and she scoffed, "Hardly."

He raised an eyebrow in challenge, and her smile faded. She gaped at him, "You're serious? God, no! A beautiful thing like that, from...you? I wouldn't bet coin on it, that's for certain!"

"Thank you for your dangerously honest input." Frowning, he turned and left her without another word.

On his way out, he passed by the cell of the loitering peasant they had collected from earlier in the day. He had completely forgotten about the incident, but he was disinclined to do anything with him yet. The man really did appear to be more of a slow oaf than a rabble-rouser. He could hang him another day, or maybe release him to share the horrific tale of the soldier in the box. Some thought Vaisey violent without sense, but they chose to overlook the utility of cruelty. The story of the Sheriff's retribution against one of his own men might dissuade others from making the same mistake. Either way, the peasant would keep for a day or two, unless they forgot to feed him, in which case the matter would solve itself.

Mounting the steps, he was nearly assaulted as his breathless page came racing down the stairs to find him. The boy thrust a sealed parchment into his hand, then leaned against the stairwell to catch his breath. Vaisey knew, with a growing sense of apprehension, from whom the message had originated. A glance at the royal crest confirmed his fears. It was not a sight he had been looking forward to, but he reasoned that it could only mean something other than a death sentence. The Prince would not give him a warning if he had that in mind. With any luck, he was only demanding the return of his missing mutt. He slit open the seal, and read the dire news: Prince John was coming to Nottingham.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter VI

The Sheriff was seated at the center of the long table, while the places to his right and left remained vacant. The sullen siblings had yet to arrive. He finished another goblet of wine, allowing the servant to refill the cup. Not one to drown his woes in drink, he feared the Prince's impending visitation might inspire him to embrace the habit. The message had contained the usual vaguely threatening discourse which had been John's mode of communication for the last few months. While not specifying exactly why he was due to arrive within a fortnight, it mentioned "securing loyalty" and admonished him to "triple the guard" of the treasury.

There were few people more committed to getting the Prince on the throne than himself, but given the state of things between them, John was not likely to be buying _his_ loyalty. Quite the opposite, it seemed the Sheriff had to pay for the privilege. It struck him as a desperate move trying to garner support from the nobility by such an uninspired method as bribery. He would have to wait and see what politically embarrassing plan he had in mind. All he knew was the royal visit could not come at a worse time, monetarily speaking. It would doubtless bring some revenue to Nottingham, but not enough to make up for the expense of hosting the royal pain in the arse.

The great hall was quiet except for the pop of boiling sap in the logs on the hearth. The place never echoed with song or music. It was not in his nature to celebrate the tedium of life. That would have to change during the Prince's visit. He had much to procure and arrange for; minstrels and players, jugglers and jesters. The best the shire could spare would need to be rounded up quickly. John would expect entertainment, and if he did not find it pleasing, he might amuse himself at the Sheriff's expense. The ordeal would hardly improve if Gisborne was busy whispering snide comments in the Prince's ear.

Steepling his fingers, he contemplated the empty space to his right. He was still faced with the old dilemma—get rid of Gisborne, or try to salvage the situation. He could replace Guy with Isabella, and use her to gather information, in return for continued freedom from her past. But even more so, he wanted them both. They were suited to very different applications, and what he could not accomplish with one, he might manage with the other.

Part of him knew it was irrational, but he needed Guy more than ever. He was the only one reckless enough to help in his upcoming schemes. Vaisey had ideas about how to turn his misfortune around, but he could not trust just anyone with his radical plans. He often found it necessary to keep allies—such as the Prince—in the dark, until knowing how best to proceed, but people had a habit of assuming treachery. Gisborne had never been one to shy away from a dangerous proposal, nor was he prone to gossip, which—it was amusing to discover—might be one of his most valuable traits. But that would be of use only if Vaisey could again secure his loyalty. Despite what had happened between them, he believed he could achieve that result.

The Sheriff had always possessed a subtle type of power over Guy, which was far more self-sustaining than threats. It had not taken long to figure out what kept him in line when others would have double-crossed him, or fled. In addition to the obvious craving for wealth and status, Gisborne desired approval. Vaisey suspected it was due to losing his father at a young age. Although why that was such a hardship for him, he found it hard to understand. The Sheriff had been only too glad to see the end of his own paterfamilias, finding it necessary to nudge him onto the eternal path, since the old bugger did not want to relinquish his hold on the family title in a reasonable time-frame. But some people were more sentimental.

While he was nothing like Guy's father, he supposed all the young man really needed was someone in authority with a passing interest in his well-being. It was the sort of thing Guy would never consciously consider—if he did, the spell might be broken—but it always worked in Vaisey's favor. It was the Sheriff's most valuable weapon against him, and had so far protected him from Gisborne's wrath.

Vaisey's task would be to convince him Prince John was not a suitable substitute for that need. Ironically, it was also the truth. The Prince's latest trend was to bestow favor on lesser nobles, raising them above what would normally be acquirable at their rank. But John's favor was fickle at best, and he had a habit of doing away with his men of the moment when they lost their lustre. Despite the flashy appeal of being drawn closer to the royal circle, no one of Gisborne's temperament would last long within it.

It was easy to imagine how Gisborne had fallen for John's golden grace. The Prince was not an impressive leader the way his father had been, but he had the ability to appear regal, when he wasn't being a petty and irascible brat. That fact that John chose to be uncharacteristically merciful toward Guy probably helped, but it was also true the Prince's words could wrap themselves around one's mind, like vines. John occasionally tried to do it to him, but Vaisey was not susceptible. He had thrown in his lot with the younger son of old king Henry because it would ultimately benefit himself.

The Sheriff's goals had been set high from the start. Few would suspect a sheriff would have his eye on the position of Lord Chancellor, but that was exactly what he had in mind. It could never happen under King Richard's reign. But with John on the throne, there was a chance. And even if good _King_ John was not moved by gratitude to promote his valuable servant to that lofty rank, he might be motivated by blackmail. The Sheriff had already amassed plenty of fodder to feed that fire.

His eyes strayed to the fireplace. A chess board was silhouetted in front of it. He intended to play against Isabella tonight, or would, if she and Guy did not kill each other before dinner was over. Although he had become used to playing with the lives of real kings, chess was still a game he enjoyed. Unfortunately, the lack of intelligent opponents made it a rare event, even when he had time to devote to it. Robin Hood might have made a good player, but there would be no way to get him to take it seriously, other than threatening the lives of his friends. It was a shame, but they had moved beyond the point of such pleasant interactions.

He had once played against Prince John early in his tenure as Sheriff. He could have won, but Vaisey had more sense than to beat the ill-tempered Prince. He held on long enough to prove he was someone to whom good strategies were second nature, but when he saw the warning signs of pursed lips and narrowing eyes, he made a few calculated mistakes, congratulating His Highness on his superior skill. John likely knew he threw the game, but he was hardly chided for it. It was part of the understanding that allowed them to maintain a functional relationship.

A messenger appeared at the doorway, interrupting his thoughts. He had sent the boy to ensure a dinner invitation reached Isabella, but the lad returned bearing the news that, though deeply regretful, the lady could not attend due to a sudden malady. It _had_ been a stress-filled day for her, but Vaisey was doubtful about the veracity of that excuse. He would give her a day to acclimate. Perhaps she did not want to talk to her brother. He could not fault her for that, but if she proved treacherous, he would make her wish she had stayed with the squire.

Gisborne arrived just as the messenger departed. Looking around, he asked bluntly, "Where's Isabella?"

"Why, I don't know," Vaisey replied truthfully. "I took her to the dungeon, and made her cry. Other than that, we were having a delightful time!"

Guy looked horrified. "You better not have done anything to my sister," he threatened.

"Why?" Vaisey barked. "Because you suddenly care what happens to her? What do you think her sweet husband has been doing all these years?"

A sliver of guilt worked its way into Gisborne's self-righteous glare, but he remained on edge.

Grabbing a bunch of grapes, Vaisey popped one into his mouth. "Do not worry so. I was only demonstrating how we deal with injustice. Being your sister I thought she would enjoy watching others suffer, but it seems I just made her lose her appetite." He held one of the dark red grapes up to the light of the fire, squeezing it lightly. "But, she is tougher than she looks. I think she has potential, with a little encouragement..."

Reassured his sister was not hanging in chains somewhere, Guy dismissed the idea, "That's the last thing she needs. Isabella is a dreamer. She always lacked a sense of practicality."

"Really? What do you think she dreams of now? A life without abuse, perhaps," Vaisey said sarcastically, tossing the slightly molested grape into the fire. "Ridiculous of a woman to expect that!"

Gisborne bristled at his uncharacteristic concern, "Since when do you care about women?"

"I don't. But I _am_ curious why you appear to dislike her so."

Brows furrowing, Guy turned his head away sharply. "It is not a matter of what I think of her, but how she thinks of me. She will always be set to hate me. I cannot change what I did."

"And so, you cannot risk offering her your love," the Sheriff said buoyantly, as if he had worked out a difficult equation. "You do not want to let yourself be hurt."

Gisborne appeared ready to say something defensive, but stopped. Instead he asked evenly, "Are you going to do this all night?"

"Do what?" Vaisey inquired innocently.

"Convince yourself you know everything about me."

"Probably. Unless you can prove me wrong."

"I don't need to prove anything to you," Guy said peevishly.

Vaisey raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. So far, this was not going well. He found it difficult to leave off pestering him, but it hardly furthered his agenda. He would need to curb his tongue somewhat if he was to bring him back around.

A servant had been hovering near Gisborne's side, ready to offer wine, or duck a blow, whichever was necessary. Noticing him, Guy took the wine. He downed the draught within seconds, and the servant refilled the cup. The tension somewhat abated, the Sheriff beckoned for him to take his place at the table.

Dinner was a quiet affair, with neither inclined to make small talk. In spite of his annoyance, Gisborne did not seem to mind the fare. He had never been adverse to partaking of the castle's finest resources, Vaisey recalled wryly, irrespective of whether he saw eye to eye with its master. The Sheriff paused to watch him devouring a roast pheasant like a half-starved pauper. Guy finally noticed Vaisey watching him.

"What?" Gisborne looked at him challengingly, like a hawk mantling its kill.

"Did they not feed you at the royal court?" Vaisey asked bemused.

"The Prince's taste is more...extravagant than mine," he explained. "Everything was needlessly embellished."

"Indeed. You can imagine my consternation when I learned he was coming here. Now I will have to play host to all of his _extravagant_ tastes!" Vaisey winced as Guy's knife scraped sharply across a pewter plate.

"He's coming here?" he asked in astonishment.

The Sheriff stifled a laugh. He loved how the man did not even try to hide ignorance of the situation. Some things never changed.

"You didn't know?" Vaisey feigned surprise. "You must merit little trust for him to leave you so far out of the loop. Yes, he will be here within a fortnight. You may have to pay the piper earlier than you thought."

Gisborne suddenly appeared distracted. The Sheriff decided now was as good a time as any to plant the seeds of discontent.

"Sorry to spoil your dinner. I seem to be making a habit of that." Vaisey rose from the table and

patted Guy's shoulder in as good-natured a manner as he was capable. "But I have something that might take your mind off it. I was going to play against your sister, but I suppose she has left you to take her place," he said, indicating the table festooned with small ivory carvings of red and white. The Sheriff took a seat at the chess board. "Come, let's play a game."

Preoccupied with other thoughts, Gisborne met his eye briefly. "I'd rather not."

The Sheriff had a hunch he would not be thrilled with the idea, but he would find the alternative even less appealing.

"Humor me, Gisborne, or you will be out of Locksley for good. You can crawl back to the Prince now, or go sleep in the forest with Hood." Laughing at the thought, he added, "Now there's a picture. I'm sure you two would have plenty to talk about."

Guy glared at him as he did when intimidating peasants. Vaisey was underwhelmed.

"Sorry, that only works with feeble-minded fools."

"Your point being?" Guy asked impertinently.

"Very good!" the Sheriff exclaimed. "I see you have sharpened that elusive wit of yours. Let us see if you can put it to some use! Grab a seat and get comfy, because I have a feeling this is going to be a long game."

After their earlier incident, Gisborne must have known Vaisey was not bluffing about evicting him. Reluctantly, he took up his place across from the Sheriff, looking as comfortable as a wolf in a trap.

"As my guest, you may have the first move," Vaisey gestured magnanimously.

With a distinct lack of enthusiasm, Guy freed one of his white knights from behind the wall of pawns. Vaisey followed by moving a pawn out before his rook. The Sheriff typically ignored his opponent's moves until several turns had gone by, choosing to set up his pieces in the most advantageous formation for attack. In response, Guy engaged in an irritatingly taunting style of play, attempting to draw the Sheriff into pursuit before he was ready. He would dance his knights along the edge of danger, seemingly not caring that Vaisey would soon establish a superior defense.

"You need to consider your strategies, if you are going to survive." Vaisey's tone was conversational. He could have been referring to the game, but he wasn't. He had not truly intended this activity to take Guy's mind off his troubles, but rather to focus it on them, using whatever anxiety it created to his advantage. "John rarely gives second chances."

Gisborne did not respond to the prompt. The Sheriff assumed he had yet to come up with a plan for salvation. Instead, he moved his knight to take one of Vaisey's pawns. The Sheriff advanced his bishop two spaces, capturing the knight, at no risk to himself. He shook his head, disappointed.

"You, my friend, are doomed. Unless..." the last word was dragged out, the two syllables elongated beyond reason. Vaisey waited for what seemed an overly long time for him to take the bait, but Guy only moved a piece across the board, ignoring him.

Resting his elbows on the table, the Sheriff laced his hands together and peered over them thoughtfully, effectively halting time in the great hall until Guy chose to pay him mind again.

Gisborne yawned, adjusting a tie on the sleeve of his tunic, but after a minute of silence, his eyes shifted up to check on his opponent's progress. He was met by the Sheriff's expectant stare. Swearing under his breath, Guy huffed in defeat, "Unless what?"

Looking down at the board, Vaisey's finger touched the peak of a carved bishop. "You could become my man again," he said, seemingly disinterested in whether or not the offer was accepted.

Guy laughed heartily, and more genuinely than Vaisey had heard in years. It was not the response he was looking for.

"You've made it abundantly clear you would rather I be dead. Why would I bother to do that?"

"Don't think I make the offer out of charity," Vaisey said sharply. His voice softened as he tried to be more persuasive. "The fact is, it would benefit me to have someone close to the Prince, keeping me informed of his plans."

"You want me to spy on the Prince for you?" The mirth had not entirely faded from Gisborne's voice. "You would have me add treason to my list of sins?"

"Do not be so dramatic, it isn't treason," he said tersely. "I'm on John's side as much as anyone, but it seems he's forgotten he has far less chance of succeeding to the throne without my help. If you are working against me—and your every breath betrays that you are—then you are not doing him any favors. And ultimately, Gisborne, you will not get what you want without me."

"What great leap of illogic allows you to conclude that?" Guy asked.

The Sheriff answered him with a question of his own. "Do you expect to be made a baron, or maybe even an earl? You forget the Prince has enough trouble with landholding upstarts, he is not going to be creating more anytime soon. He invites people like yourself into his court just so he can shun his barons. The Prince loves young pups to do the work of old hounds, since they are malleable and expendable. But let me assure you, people like you mean nothing to him. He will take your loyalty as his due, rewarding you with a benevolent smile from time to time, but the moment you fall from grace—which surely you already have—that smile will be eclipsed by fury. I've known the man for years, long enough to work out his patterns. He's wily enough, but also merciless, egotistical, and unstable."

"Reminds me of someone I used to work for," Guy grumbled. "Yet you still want to make him king," he added derisively.

"Yes," Vaisey said without hesitation, "because as long as he is given due obeisance, he is satisfied and will defer to the wisdom of his advisers, of which I plan to be foremost. As monarchs go, John's needs are shallow, and can be satiated with lies. He feeds off the false affection of his nobles. He may even recognize the untruth of it all, but as long as everyone performs their part well, the play can continue. But I know you will not be satisfied being an actor in his court. He will never win your respect, and you will slip up, making your contempt known. I'm guessing your lack of deceit was a novelty to the Prince. A noble with the heart of a soldier who states whatever he is thinking. But if you believe that is what John really wants, you are mistaken," he said, moving his bishop to threaten Guy's rook.

When a counter move did not come, he looked up. Guy's sullen stare was more than half closed. The Sheriff frowned.

"You better not be falling asleep."

Guy opened his eyes, reluctantly focusing on him. "I'm not. I was simply hoping time would pass faster in darkness."

"It won't," Vaisey assured him. The guard, Warin, could have vouched for that. He wondered if the man had expired yet. Something to look forward to checking tomorrow. He returned his attention to the subject.

"I let you get away with speaking your mind, since I valued the occasional good idea you might have, but John is nothing like that. The Prince does not speak as plainly as I do."

Advancing a pawn to guard his jeopardized rook, Guy scoffed, "You're the quintessence of honesty," his irritating smile returning.

"I was honest with you, though you obviously did not appreciate it. Think about it," Vaisey caught his skeptical gaze, "I had no reason to lie to you, being of the opinion you were strong enough to accept the truth. I now realize my error, but out of habit, I'm still giving you the benefit of my wisdom."

That bloody smirk had faded slightly, but he could not tell if Guy believed what he had just said. Of course he had lied to him now and again, but on average, he had been far more honest than not.

"When John wearies of you, you will disappear, without ever having achieved a higher rank. Mark my words, Gisborne, you will reap no benefit, even if you lay your life at his feet."

So far, the same might have been said about his own allegiance to the Prince. Materially, Vaisey had gained nothing he did not already have upon beginning his tenure as sheriff. He had actually paid a small fortune for the job. But power, and the potential for significantly more power—once John was king—was enough to maintain him. He had been ruling like a tyrant in his own little realm, but he wanted more, indeed _had_ to want more if he were going to remain in control. If it were not for his wildly ambitious plans, the Prince would not renew his appointment, to put it mildly.

Gisborne's deep voice pushed aside his reflection. "How has serving you been any different?" he seized on the question, apparently exposing a flaw in Vaisey's argument. "What have I ever gained by helping you?"

"A fair question, though I would expect you should know the answer by now. What you get from me depends entirely on me getting what I covet. I possess the power of suggestion over the Prince. When we are victorious over Richard, I will have the new king's ear like no one else. As far as I am concerned, that is its own reward, but I will see that you are given your due."

"I'm sure you will," Guy said, almost inaudibly.

The Sheriff had to admit, it was all a little too conceptual to make a convincing argument to deaf ears. "The alternative is," Vaisey said with growing impatience, "I use my suggestive powers now, and send him a list of creative ways to kill you."

"How considerate," Gisborne replied sarcastically.

Vaisey realized he'd been delaying his next move. He positioned a knight to threaten Guy's bishop, aware that put it in danger of being taken by his opponent's queen.

"Leaving your knight to be captured? You never change," Guy said, moving the queen to topple the Sheriff's knight.

Vaisey assumed the metaphor was supposed to make him feel guilty. Was he _still_ bitter about being given over to the Prince's guard as a sacrifice? Why even _have_ friends if you could not expect them to die in your place?

"And you are still gullible as ever. Always distracted by the obvious, but never looking at the endgame." The Sheriff slid a rook from across the board to the spot vacated by the queen. It put the white king in jeopardy. "Check." In a few more moves, Gisborne would be finished.

"So, you say I am already as good as defeated. How do I avoid that?" It was Guy's turn to appear to be referring to the game. "Right now, I doubt a good word from you will help."

To anyone else, the remark might have sounded purely belligerent, but Vaisey could discern the genuine need behind the question. It was a step in the right direction.

"That is why I said you need to work on your plan now. You will have to face him yourself, but for pity's sake do _not_ be honest with him. The best you can hope to do is appeal to his vanity. Convince the man he's a god incarnate, and he might let you live."

"How should I do that?" Gisborne looked questioningly at him, clueless as an ox contemplating the butcher's blade.

The Sheriff rolled his eyes. "Must I breathe for you too? Be creative! The man's so drunk on his own ego it should not be difficult. You need only maintain the charade until his ruffled feathers have been smoothed, and I have gotten things back on track. Then I will request you return to my service. Surely he will be bored with you by then, and won't begrudge me."

Gisborne did not look satisfied with that advice, but he made no further comment. As an afterthought, he moved his doomed king one last time, choosing the least advantageous placement, perhaps wanting the end to come quickly.

"Checkmate," Vaisey said quietly, moving the red queen to pin down the king. Never a challenge, but the Sheriff had decided long ago a victory without a fight was still a victory.

The fire had burned down to embers. He feared his own wits would need refreshing before tangling with Guy's stubborn resolve again. "Do not procrastinate on a decision. My offer will not remain open for long."

Guy had a faraway look, and he wondered if he wasn't falling asleep again.

"Well, don't let me keep you up...any longer," said Vaisey.

Gisborne perked up at the dismissal. Wordlessly, he pushed back the chair, making his way to the door.

"Gisborne?" the Sheriff called.

He halted, slowly pivoting around.

"No goodnight kiss?" Vaisey asked with mock hope.

Guy's response reminded him of a cat tasting something bitter.

"No? You really should practice hiding your contempt," the Sheriff chided. "Prince John won't always take no for an answer."

Turning sharply, Guy left the hall.

Vaisey chuckled. That had not gone all _that_ badly. At least they had not drawn steel on each other. He knew Gisborne would deliberate on his offer, and upon concluding he had no better options, he would accept it.

Vaisey sent a messenger to rouse the sergeant, not caring if the man was already abed. They needed to start making arrangements for the Prince's arrival now.

Stretching, the Sheriff yawned widely. Whoever said there was no rest for the wicked was a fool. _He_ was planning to sleep late tomorrow.

~ Fin ~


End file.
